


Not a Victory March

by RobinsonsWereHere



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: 1950s opinions, F/M, Family Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene, Non-Graphic Description of Injuries, Turnadette - Freeform, but it's before the xmas special, fistfights, people disapprove of Patrick and Shelagh, so they're not married yet, that doesn't go over well with Timothy, turnadette are engaged
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 17:57:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20604950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinsonsWereHere/pseuds/RobinsonsWereHere
Summary: It's only been a few weeks since Patrick and Shelagh's engagement, but they've quickly become the talk of the town... and not in a good way. Patrick and Shelagh do their best to ignore the talk, but when Timothy overhears some boys he knows spreading the same ugly rumors, he takes matters into his own hands.





	Not a Victory March

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Call the Midwife fic! I love the whole show so much, and I especially love Shelagh and Patrick's story line. Hopefully I'll have a few more fics with them and/or the whole Nonnatus house gang coming over the next few weeks!

Patrick Turner is just finishing with his last call of the day, and he’s never been more glad to be done. Firstly, Shelagh is coming for dinner, and he wants very badly to actually cook a meal to serve her. Secondly, the residents of Poplar Street are in an even more gossip-y mood than usual, and the item of the week is Shelagh’s departure from the order, and more specifically, her subsequent engagement to him.

The third reason has a lot to do with the young boy waiting in the Alley outside the house. Taking Timothy on his rounds is an endeavor, but Patrick had been happy that this street was his last stop- his son is friendly with many of the boys around here, and they will entertain each other until Patrick finishes with his patients. 

That sense of confidence lasts until Patrick returns to the alley to find his son in the middle of a fistfight, getting beaten to a pulp.

Timothy rarely fights. Patrick himself has taught him to use words instead of fists. Some voice in the back of his head wonders what had been so offensive to his son that he’d stooped to this brawl, but any curiosity is quickly quenched by the need to get him out of the melee.

It isn’t until he hauls Timothy out of the fight that Patrick gets any sense of what’s going on. He throws an arm over his son’s shoulders, fixing the other boys with a stern glare. “I don’t know what on earth is going on here, but you boys should be ashamed of yourselves.”

One of the older boys, a tall, lanky blonde, scoffs. “You’re one to talk, Doc. Ain’t you about to marry a nun?”

Timothy rips himself free from Patrick’s grasp, which the doctor is glad for, as grabbing his son prevents himself from doing something rash. He grabs Timothy’s arm firmly and bids a gruff farewell to the other boys, before marching them both to the car.

\---

Timothy shifts awkwardly in his seat, stealing another glance at his father, wo’s driving. The ride has been silent for the past few minutes, with the older Turner stewing angrily as his son watches him, nervous.

“Dad?”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry. I- I know you say to use my words and not my fists, but I did. I told them they were being rude and crass and they should stop talking, but they didn’t.”

Patrick gives a long sigh and takes one hand off the steering wheel to grasp Timothy’s which reassures the boy. “Tim, I’m not mad at you. But it’s been a long day and a lot of people have a lot to say about things they have no say in, which frustrates me. Speaking of which…” He glances his way, and Timothy meets his eyes. “Ah, what exactly were those boys saying, that you felt the need to physically intervene.”

Timothy grimaces and looks down at the floor. “They were talking about Shelagh,” he explains quietly. “They were saying that it’s improper for a nun to get married, even if she’s not a nun anymore. They said you charmed her out of the order, or something.” He pauses, reflecting on the crude insults hurled by boys who had been his friends. “They said- well, I’d get in loads of trouble for saying what they said, but they, um, seemed to think that… you and Shelagh had been courting each other even before she left Nonnatus house.”

Again, his dad sighs deeply, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. “Well… first of all, Timothy, I want to make sure that _you_ know that none of that is true.”

“Of course!” Timothy straightens in his seat. “Of course it’s not true, Dad. I remember the first night I asked you if you were in love with Sister Bernadette, and you said that maybe you were, but you wouldn’t even think about doing anything about it unless she left the order. And I know it was her decision to leave, too.” He cuts himself off, remembering that he wasn’t supposed to have heard that particular conversation. But it’s too late- his dad has caught on.

An eyebrow goes up. “Is that just an assumption, or?”

Timothy shifts in his seat. “Well, I, uh, heard you two talking the first night she was here, after the sanatorium. I know it was eavesdropping, but I was curious!”

His father sighs. “Well, that’s hardly an issue now. I think it would be best if we headed back to Nonnatus house so I can put away my equipment and you can get that black eye looked at.”

Timothy nods. Now that he’s thinking about it, his head is beginning to ache. “Alright. Sounds good.”

\---

Trixie normally hates stragglers who appear as the clinic is closing, so when she sees the Turners, her first reaction is a put-upon sigh. But then she notices Timothy’s black eye and Dr. Turner’s rather severe expression and decides that helping her friends is more important than getting all of the bandages put away.

“Well, well, well, boys, it looks like you’ve had an exciting afternoon!”

Timothy grimaces and rubs his sleeve over his mouth, wiping blood from a split lip. “I got in a fight.”

“Oh, dear,” Trixie comments, already grabbing items to clean off his face. “What happened?”

The young boy shrugs. “People were being rude, and they didn’t stop talking when I told them they were wrong. So I showed them.”

“I’m sure you did,” she responds, choosing not to pry further. Between his vagueness and Dr. Turner’s stormy expression- not to mention all of the gossip she’d spent her day overhearing during the antenatal clinic- she has a fairly decent idea of what exactly they might have been rude about. “Would you like an ice pack?”

“Yes, please.”

When Trixie returns, ice pack in hand, she has to smile at the scene unfolding between father and son. Timothy has planted the good half of his face in his father’s chest and grabbed him in a hug. For his part, Dr. Turner has an arm over his son’s shoulders, and is slowly rubbing his back.

“Alright, then,” she says gently, “this should help. Keep it on there and you won’t have to slap a piece of meat on like a caveman.”

Timothy smiles. “Thank you, Nurse Franklin.”

“Yes, thank you so much,” Dr. Turner adds.

“Of course, Turners, any time. Have a nice night!”

They wave goodbye, and Trixie watches them go even as she wipes down the counter.

\---

Shelagh is quite excited as she climbs the steps to knock on Patrick’s door. They’ve visited a few restaurants since his proposal, but this is the first time he’s having her over to his house for dinner. Earlier, he’d enthusiastically proclaimed that he was going to cook the dinner himself, although from Timothy’s horrified expression, Shelagh’s not sure what to expect. Still, she’s smiling brightly as she knocks on the door.

Patrick answers quickly, and when the door opens, Shelagh can smell a delicious aroma, of bread and soup and cheese. “Shelagh, good evening! How has your day been?”

He ushers her into the home, and she follows, eagerly taking in every detail. “Very good, Patrick, although all day I’ve been looking forward to dinner with you.”

“And I you, Shelagh.” He grins at her, and she feels like she’s just stepped into a ray of sunlight. Being around Patrick does tend to give her that warm feeling of happiness. As they make their way into the kitchen, however, she gets distracted.

“Hello, Timothy! Oh! What’s happened to your face?”

Timothy waves hello with the hand that isn’t holding the ice pack to my hand. “Hullo, Shelagh. I’m doing much better than I look, I promise. It’s just that I got into a bit of a fistfight earlier with some boys I know while Dad was on his call. They… they were saying rather horrid things about you.”

Shelagh opens her mouth, then closes it again, unsure of what to say. _He felt the need to get in a fight because of me?_ “Oh- oh, well…” her attention redirects to Patrick, who moves through the kitchen- first squeezing her hand, then ruffling Timothy’s hair, then stirring the pot on the stove. Shelagh takes a deep breath. “Timothy, I don’t want you getting into trouble on my account! I especially don’t want you getting hurt.” She reaches across the table to examine his lip, which is bleeding slowly.

Timothy, for his part, drops the ice pack so he can look at her fully, his expression as serious as a thirteen-year-old boy can be. “Dad says we should always stand up for our family. And you’re family.”

Shelagh smiles, but her words are stolen away by a tide of emotion rolling over her. _The Lord truly has blessed me with these two. My family._ “Thank you, Timothy… for defending my honor, as it were, and for your kind words.”

Timothy nods quickly. “If my dad loves you, then I love you, too.”

“And I love you both as well,” Shelagh replies. “Patrick, dear, what’s for dinner? It smells delicious!”

“That’s just the tomato soup,” Patrick answers. “From a can, I’m afraid. But I did buy fresh bread this morning to make grilled cheese sandwiches.”

Timothy sighs dramatically. “Don’t burn them this time.”

\---

Patrick returns from saying goodnight to Timothy to find Shelagh curled on the couch, running her fingers over the worn, soft fabric. He pads over to her, laying his own hand atop hers.

The gentle smile she gives him soothes his soul. “Patrick.”

“Shelagh.” He takes her hand and kisses it, ant then sits next to her on the couch. “What’s worrying you?”

She sighs. “I just- I don’t want you and Timothy to suffer because of me.”

His heart aches at the thought of her faulting herself for the gossip around town. “Shelagh, no,” he refutes. “If anything, I hate the thought of your name being slandered just because of our engagement. And do you want to know something else?”

Shelagh looks to have relaxed somewhat. “What?”

“If it weren’t for my hippocratic oath, I’m sure I, too, would be fighting anyone who dared to speak ill of you.”

Shelagh blushes. “Oh, Patrick.”

“I love you, Shelagh,” he promises. “And Timothy loves you too, as he said. We’ll both do anything we can to protect you. Although…” he tilts his head as he thinks. “I daresay you’re strong enough to stand up for yourself.”

Shelagh’s smile has grown, which means he’s done his job. She leans forward and kisses his cheek. “I love you too, Patrick. Thank you for always comforting me.”

Her improved mood is like a weight lifted off his shoulders. Patrick stands, still holding her hand. “Of course, Shelagh. Come on now… I hate to see you leave, but it’s late. I should be getting you home.”

He drives her home, and gives her a gentle kiss at the foot of her stairs. “Goodnight, Shelagh. I love you.”

She gives him a beautiful smile, and his heart swells. “Thank you for dinner, Patrick, and goodnight. I love you too.”

Patrick watches as she climbs the stairs, feeling warm despite the cool night air. He may not approve of Timothy fighting, but he has to agree that there are some things worth fighting for.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! This is the first time I've written these characters, so if you've got any constructive criticism, on my characterization or other aspects, feel free to let me know. Leave a comment or kudos if you want!


End file.
